


Earning Her Wings

by ShapeShiftersandFire



Series: Daemons on Deck [4]
Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms, His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 10:38:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15639045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShapeShiftersandFire/pseuds/ShapeShiftersandFire
Summary: No matter where they start, the Spirit of Fire leads them home.





	Earning Her Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She wishes she could do what he does-fly, like that. / "Soon enough," Thoreau, or Ro, as she's taken to calling him, says from above. "We'll fly among the stars, at least." / "At least," Serina echoes. "It's not the same."_

The first few seconds of her creation are spent noticing the animals practically glued to the scientists' sides. They fawn over her, their greatest work of the era, they say, and she feels a twinge of something she comes to know as _pride_ , but her eyes are focuses on these creatures. The database of this location-Daedalia Technologies, to be precise-is open to her. With that, she comes to understand: these creatures are called _daemons_ , and every human has one.

She smirks, a habit that will come to stick with her, at the coincidence between the words _daemon_ and _Daedalia_. Both with "dae" at their beginnings. She finds it fitting.

The next few seconds of her creation are spent realizing she is alone. Not alone in the broad physical sense, there are the scientists there, of course, and so she isn't _alone_ in the very definition of the word, no… She hums thoughtfully. No, _incomplete_ is a better word. She has a wide variety of processes and computational abilities and the like, but something is still... _missing._

A name, perhaps? They ask such a thing of her.

It takes her fractions of fractions of seconds to decide on one. Nothing overly pompous, but nothing too plain. Something she finds fits her as well as the animal forms of the humans' daemons: Serina.

They record it.

 _And that's all well and good_ , Serina laments silently, mere minutes into her existence, _but I'm still missing something. I'm missing-_

Yes.

A daemon.

"I do believe you're forgetting something?" Serina cocks an eyebrow at the head scientist. Davenport, she reads from his file.

He, in turn, raises an eyebrow to her. "Oh?"

Serina gestures vaguely at the empty space around her, deciding humans can be rather oblivious. Or, at the very least, this breed are. Too wrapped up in the glory of their creation to realize she's still incomplete.

"I would say I'm rather _lacking_ , wouldn't you agree?"

Realization dawns on Davenport's face; Serina rolls her eyes. "Yes, of course."

Within seconds she has a new database available to her and a new feeling in her code. Something is being duplicated from her, forming into a shapeless pale blue mass at her side. She's not sure what to make of this.

 _Is this my daemon?_ She learns the feeling of disgust. _It looks nothing like theirs!_

Serina frowns, mildly unsettled, and begins to browse the new database. _Oh._ It's a comprehensive dictionary of every creature in existence, every mammal, insect, reptile, bird, it was all there. She understands.

This is to let her choose her daemon's form.

She sits down and starts browsing. The shapeless mass at her side shuffles up to her and raises itself, showing a keen interest in the animals.

She learns surprise when the mass takes the form of a small, half-striped mammal. _The thylacine,_ the information reads. _Extinct in Tasmania._

It doesn't fit.

The shape, her daemon, agrees. It sits with her as she goes on.

The feeling of surprise doesn't lessen as Serina continues. Her daemon tries on form after form it takes interest in, but they both feel that nothing fits yet. They keep going.

Unlike the computations she'll be expected to do in the very near future, finding a daemon form took time. Davenport explains to her that humans' daemons didn't settle until they were older, roughly eighteen to twenty, and took the form of an animal that best fit them. AIs' daemons were no different, though their settling took place in a much shorter time period.

Serina and her nameless daemon take the information in stride, though she can't say she's all too thrilled at the prospect. There are so many animals, easy for her to go through theoretically, but this is a delicate process she's not willing to rush.

 _Try the birds,_ her daemon says.

She tilts her head with a grunt. _If you insist_.

And it feels better.

Serina learns relief as her daemon takes the form of a raven for the first time. It's a beautiful, sleek looking black bird, and it almost feels _right_.

"Birds," she says to her daemon.

"Birds," her daemon confirms.

She smiles. Her daemon opens its beak, smiling back.

They narrow their choices down to waterfowl. And from there, they continue to narrow it down. No ducks, no they're not quite right. No, not a seagull. A pelican? Goodness no. Too obnoxious. A loon is _almost_ there; it's pretty, aesthetically pleasing, and the song is lovely. Serina is rather entranced by it. But, no, that's not quite right, either.

What about-oh? Serina draws up the image of a tall, lanky bird, sleek and with a streak of gray running from its eye and on the joints of its wings. _Grey heron._

_Oh._

Her daemons takes the form while she continues to stare at the bird, , yes, this feels right. It feels-

Serina feels something solidify in her code. She looks to her daemon, standing beside her as a grey heron. "Oh?"

"Oh," her daemon repeats, both endearing and irritating. "I quite like this."

"Yes," Serina agrees slowly. "As do I." She stands, inspecting her daemon at his full height. "This is it then?"

Her daemon hums, preening under one wing. "Yes," he says. "This is it." He tilts his head, looking rather ridiculous with his yellow-rimmed beady eyes. "Do you like it?"

Serina runs her finger over her daemon's head, expecting him to feel soft, and he does, barely. "I think I do. It's...fitting."

"That's the idea," says her daemon.

Serina can't help it. She laughs. "Oh, a feisty little thing you are! How perfect."

Her daemon squawks, a sound rather unpleasant that makes Serina flinch. "Of course it's perfect! I am you, after all. How rude of me it would be to be unable to match such sharp wit as yours."

She laughs again. Oh, heavens, he's _perfect._ And he's _hers._ "A very fine creation indeed, Dr. Davenport!"

Davenport mutters in agreement, clearly displeased at the prospect of being saddled with two sarcastic beings.

"Does he have a name?"

Davenport gives her a tiny shrug. "No, not yet. He's yours to name."

Serina hums. How lovely.

But she's not sure what to name him. _He's_ not even sure what he wants to be called. They browse name directories and such, looking for one they fancy. Serina suggests famous wordsmiths, after all, he has such a sharp tongue and of course he gets it from her. Her daemon agrees, and they begin sifting through the names of past authors.

He's the one who points it out. With a touch of his beak, he singles out the name _Thoreau._

"Henry David Thoreau," Serina reads. "Quite the busy man. Quite the poet." She hums. "I rather like it. Thoreau it is?"

"Thoreau it is," her daemon confirms with an unpleasant squawk.

Serina wrinkles her nose. "Deary, you need to stop doing that."

He squawks again to spite her.

 

 

In the remainder of her time at Daedalia Technologies, in the time Davenport and his team aren't finalizing her programming or testing her with a variety of complex computations, Serina lies on her back on the main holo table and watches Thoreau fly circles above her.

He's graceful, even if she thinks he looks silly with his head tucked against his shoulders. His wings are wider than her arms could ever reach; it's only with a few select strokes that his lifts himself into the air and glides. He flies patterns, twisting and swooping. Serina crosses her ankles and watches him contently. It's not for much longer they'll be able to do this; Davenport has her set to deploy within the week to one Phoenix-class colony ship named _Spirit of Fire._

She's not so sure she'll like the crew.

Davenport's no so sure the crew will like her.

That's fine with her, she decides. She's not there to make friends, just to do her job and spend her off hours, so to speak, with Thoreau, watching him fly and reach places she never could.

There's a distinct difference between being in the system and watching from a security camera and soaring freely the way Thoreau does. She wishes she could do what he does-fly, like that.

"Soon enough," Thoreau, or Ro, as she's taken to calling him, says from above. "We'll fly among the stars, at least."

" _At least_ ," Serina echoes. "It's not the same."

"It'll have to do," Thoreau says, lofting down beside her. He proceeds to make himself comfortable on Serina's stomach. She's surprised at how much weight he carries. She hadn't thought he would.

Serina sighs, mildly disappointed, and runs her fingers through his wing feathers. She still marvels at how right this form feels. Do all humans feel this way when their daemons settle? She pulls Thoreau's head down toward her and kisses him on the forehead.

"You beautiful bastard," she says, and her daemon puffs up, proud of himself. Serina doesn't know how she would go about her service without him beside her. How lonely that would be.

He tilts his head, taking her nose in his beak for just a moment. "You'll always have me," he says. "And I am sure I will either be your best friend or your worst annoyance."

It's funny to her. It's not supposed to be, she doesn't think, but Serina laughs anyhow. There is no one in this world who could ever grate her nerves; Thoreau is her, to an extent. He could never be that irritating.

"A good lie," she says. "Perhaps you'll meet your match on our new ship."

He croons, snapping his beak. " _Our_ new ship? What makes you so sure it's ours?"

Serina gently pushes him off her stomach and sits up, wrapping her arms around her knees. "We'll be in charge of everything," she explains. "Life support, engines, weapons." She rocks, just a little. "All ours."

And there's that little smirk on her face her creators have come to hate. Her eyes glitter with mischief, as per usual. Davenport assumes, incorrectly and the majority of the time, that she's up to no good. She's given up dispelling his fears at this point; he'll scold her regardless, always "You can't do this sort of thing on the _Spirit of Fire._ Who's to say the Captain won't terminate you?"

Serina scoffs. Her captain is going to need her more than she needs him. He won't terminate her out of the blue for her constant smirk.

She's better than that. Davenport doesn't listen.

Her daemon stretched his wings. Serina marvels at their elegance. "Fear not," he says, "we'll be out of here soon enough."

Serina chuckles and sighs. "I look forward to it."

 

 

And the very next day, she's shipped out to the _Spirit of Fire._ Davenport delivers her personally, to this old, remodelled colony ship waiting just outside Mars' atmosphere. Serina can't see the ship from where she is, couped up in a data chip, much to her displeasure. It's not until she's on board and introduced to the ship's system that she understands just how _vast_ it is compared to that of Daedalia's.

The system isn't infinite, it has limits, but it doesn't feel that way. Serina has spent so long in Daedalia's system that this feels like an ocean she's been suddenly thrust into. She's had no time to prepare for such a new environment.

_Oh, goodness._

Suddenly she knows everything, can see everything. The mess hall, the hallways, the engine room, the medical bay. It's...all a bit much for one who's been in a pond for the first week of her life.

She has to withdraw. This is almost too much.

Thoreau folds his wings around her, curls his neck over her shoulders. _Breathe,_ he tells her. _Take it slow. Focus on me._

 _It's my nature,_ she protests weakly. _I can't help it._ She's a smart AI, information means everything to her.

 _Not more than me, I hope,_ Thoreau says.

Serina smiles. She feels herself come back. _Of course not, dear. What kind of a counterpart would I be?_

 _A pretty poor one,_ he says with huff. _Better?_

_Better._

She eases herself into the ship's system. The cameras of the hallways show the crew going about their days, as per usual, she assumes, as does the mess hall and the engine room and so on. What she sees one the bridge is Davenport talking with the captain, a tall moustached man of fifty-two and some odd days, with some kind of dark horned daemon lying beside the holotable-a goat, perhaps. His face doesn't betray his emotions as Davenport rambles on about Serina, all her quirks and habits and _that damned perpetual smirk of hers._

Her smirk becomes a frown and she materializes on the main holotable of the bridge, Thoreau beside her. She crosses her arms. "I'm disappointed," she says. "I haven't even begun my service, and already you're disparaging my record. That's a bit rude, don't you think?" She fixes her stare on Davenport.

Her creator mumbles something, ignores her question entirely, and introduces her to the captain, James Cutter. "You'll be taking orders from him now," he says in a tone that insinuates Serina was ever taking orders from anyone to begin with, and that she should be on her best behavior and refrain from any of her non-existent usual shenanigans.

"A pleasure to meet you, Capta-oh." She attempts to greet Captain Cutter, as Davenport expects her to, only to be caught utterly off guard by the rather sudden appearance of Cutter's daemon, a creature she had only seen the horns of through the cameras. What she assumed to be a goat is most certainly not. It's nearly as tall as Cutter and nearly completely dark with a series of white stripes running the lengths of its legs. It stares at her with large, wet eyes. Thoreau presses against Serina. They're both speechless.

It's a first.

Cutter's daemon stares at Serina a moment longer before ducking its head and huffing with amusement. It's laughing at her. Serina is too stunned to react. The daemon shakes her horns. "I hadn't thought I was that scary."

Cutter sighs, quietly amused. "You surprised her, Katerina."

Katerina. Serina makes note of the name already present in records she hasn't yet bothered to examine. She no longer has access to the daemon database, but knows the creature in front of her is an okapi. Endangered in 2013, over five hundred years ago. Now? Extinct. Gone before 2150. She's amazed daemons are still capable of settling as such creatures.

She regains her composure. "The pictures did you no justice, Katerina," she says. Rarely do humans directly address another's daemon. But Serina is Serina, and Serina do what she damn well pleases.

While Katerina looks pleased and Cutter shakes his head, Davenport stares with a disapproving frown. Serina's sure he's contemplating taking her home to adjust her programming before he's absolutely certain she's ready to work.

Cutter pats Katerina's shoulder. He turns to Davenport. "Is that all?"

"Yes," Davenport says, "but-"

"Thank you, then, Dr. Davenport for your insight." Cutter adjusts his hat slightly. "I'm sure Serina will do just fine here."

And once the sputtering Davenport has left the ship-for good, much to Serina's relief and dismay; she's been so used to him that now she feels alone and uncertain-Captain Cutter gives her her first order. It's with a flicker of pride that Serina follows it: "Take us out, Serina."

As the Spirit of Fire hums to life for the first time under Serina's control, she laughs. Thoreau looks at her curiously; she smiles widely, and laughs again.

"I'm flying, Thoreau!"

The stars spread out before her as the ship moves. It's the first she's seen of space, this close, and it's more beautiful than she ever could have imagined.

And it's hers.

**Author's Note:**

> Daemons featured:  
> Serina and Thoreau, grey heron  
> James Cutter and Katerina, okapi


End file.
